


See No Evil

by DM (altilis)



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-11
Updated: 2009-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:10:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altilis/pseuds/DM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kristoph hears everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See No Evil

The house was silent and dark. No surprise, at two-thirty in the morning, especially on a Thursday night. Kristoph never stayed up past one o’clock if he had to, which meant that he was probably asleep now; Klavier would have to tip-toe through the house to avoid waking him. Unlike Kristoph, who seemed to throw case work back into the drawer when the clock struck midnight, Klavier could get sucked into his work, distracted by the details of the case and the booming bass line of whatever music he put on his in-office stereo.

He passed through the front doors without the slightest creak of the hinges, hardly a footfall against the tile of the entrance hall. After setting his motorcycle helmet on one of the parlour ottomans, he crept into the kitchen to grab a drink. All the prosecutor’s office had was the standard-fare soda—nothing he particularly liked—and he only felt truly thirsty when he had put his motorcycle in the garage.

As he passed through the hallway into the kitchen, he passed by several digital picture frames on the wall and had several more wink at him from strategic places on the kitchen walls and counters. One right next to the door frame phased from a picture of the two brothers in Paris to one of the Gavinner’s shows at Glastonbury. When he pulled his glass from the cupboard, a frame on the counter wedged between the wall and the side of the refrigerator shuttered from a publicity photo of the band to a picture just between Klavier and Daryan. They both looked a little drunk, with crowds of people behind them in some sort of nightclub. Daryan had his arm around Klavier’s neck, pushing a martini glass to Klavier’s lips with the other hand, while Klavier seemed to be the one taking the picture, his arm disappearing into the corner of the frame.

Klavier stared at this picture while he drank his cup of orange juice, wondering why that picture was even there, when it was so…incriminating. They looked like fools (though Kristoph always thought they looked like fools), but it still made him smile into his orange juice. He put his glass into the sink, and filled it with water. While walking through the hallway back to the staircase, he didn’t know why he had been so bothered by that one picture; at any one time in this house, there was some sort of picture of him and Daryan, on the road, on tour, at the precinct, having lunch, having dinner, celebrating at some party, visiting national landmarks, visiting the world—together.

He walked up the stairs, footsteps muffled by red carpet, and down the hall, slipping into his own master bedroom with just the faintest click of the lock on his door. His room remained untouched since he had last left it—which meant that a couple of different outfits were strewn across the floor, one of his guitars was propped against the dresser, his laptop was charging away happily on his desk, and a pile of unopened mail was deposited unceremoniously next to his bedside cabinet. On this same cabinet, a digital picture frame flickered, and Daryan and he were eating ice cream near Gourd Lake after a long, hot swim.

He smiled again and turned on one of his desk lamps, so a dim light would prevent him from tripping over anything important. Klavier took off his pendant and placed it on top of the dresser and began to unbutton his black shirt.

Thump.

He stilled, fingers still clasped over the middle button of his shirt. What was that? Some sort of intruder? It was coming from Kristoph’s bedroom, right on the other side of the wall, maybe it was a burglar, some unhappy client—

Thud.

His brother had more than a few enemies, and some of them would have the balls to come to the house, he knew. He opened his sock drawer and fished for the Walther pistol hidden beneath the polka-dot red boxers. Klavier was about to go for the door—

“………”

He paused, when he heard the faintest murmur coming from the wall. A murmur. Not yelling, screaming, shouts of anger or distress, but voices just loud enough for the low notes to penetrate through the wall and the silence of the night.

Klavier pressed his ear to the wall between his bookcase and a gold-framed Monet. The feldgrau-coloured plaster was cool against his cheek and the shell of his ear, making him shiver before he could even hear any of the words coming from the other side of the wall.

“You………………………………too loud,” Klavier could hear the familiar, annoyed hiss of his brother, which alleviated his worry somewhat. But he was obviously talking to somebody, which was the other half of Klavier’s concern. The Walther was still tight in his hand, and the harder he pressed his ear to the wall the more his own thumping heartbeat crowded out the sounds on the other side.

“Yeah, well, he’s probably not even home yet, so you can stop you’re fucking worrying,” This voice was clear, distinct, unabashed and bold. Klavier was so taken back by its familiarity that he pulled his ear from the wall. He stared at the plush carpet under his feet with his brow furrowed and his reason all in a knot.

Daryan? What could he and Kristoph possibly be talking about? Daryan had said to him that his brother had too much of a stick up his ass and Kristoph had told him his friend was a loud-mouthed idiot who thought with his dick half the time and the other with his gun. Klavier had, at the time, ignored both of them.

“Ah—yeah—that’s it—” Daryan’s loud-mouth comments came through the wall whether Klavier pressed his ear to the plaster or not. The words made his blood run cold and his heart beat faster in his chest.

“God you’re good—” Klavier closed his eyes, hoping to block out the sounds, but now without his sight he could hear the voices as if the wall wasn’t there at all. “Better than your goddamn brother—”

He leaned his back against the wall and slowly slid down to sit against it, eyes still screwed shut and now his knees up to his chest.

“Fuck, man, you want to do this again? Fine by me…”

The pistol slid free from Klavier’s grasp to lay innocently on the floor as he pressed his hands to his ears, hanging his head, trying to block out his worst nightmare—

“Fuck!”

Klavier wasn’t even sure that all he was hearing was real anymore. It was enough that he could imagine it all, that he could fill in the sounds even if they didn’t actually reach his ears. The crinkle of a condom wrapper, the slick of massage oil, the thud as Kristoph pushed Daryan into the wall—

He was shaking his head now, practically pushing his skull inside itself at the ears, wishing that his racing heartbeat would echo through his head so he wouldn’t he have to hear Daryan’s exclamation as Kristoph slid into him, that he wouldn’t have to hear skin slapping against skin to a rhythmic pulse that reminded him of one of the Gavinners’ top hits. He pulled at his hair as Daryan started to swear, like he always did when he was getting close, as Kristoph mumbled something in German and as they started to get faster and faster and he just wanted to curl up in a ball and die—

“Fuck, Kristoph!”

Klavier’s eyes shot open as he heard Daryan shout his brother’s name, clear as a bell through the wall. He had clung to some vague and distant hope that maybe Daryan was doing it just because Kristoph was his brother, that this had nothing to do with Kristoph at all, maybe…maybe he would have screamed a different name…

He didn’t want to hear their aftermath, like Kristoph’s sultry coos or Daryan asking to light a cigarette, but he couldn’t move from his seat against the wall. The pain at his heart immobilized him to the spot and corrupted his sense of where he was. Klavier didn’t notice how his hands were shaking, how his lips were parted to take in short and shaken breaths, or how the moisture he felt on his cheeks wasn’t from the humidifier in the room.

He could hear Daryan’s coarse language again, joking, laughing, as if nothing in the world had happened between the two of them, nothing like being fucked up against the wall by his boyfriend’s brother. As they lingered near the wall, Klavier could hear that they were planning another date to do this—he pressed his palms firmly into his ears—but when they began to talk about the date and time they moved away from the wall, and all he could hear was another one of Daryan’s laughs.

The next thing Klavier could easily hear was the opening and closing of Kristoph’s bedroom door and, ten minutes later, the fading of a motorcycle off the property and into the distance. Klavier hadn’t seen his friend’s ride on the way in, but then again, he hadn’t seen a lot of things.


End file.
